A surprise cameo
by LadyCordeliaStuart
Summary: Watching Scream 2, I was most intrigued by Cotton Weary's character. This is my alternate version of Scream 2, where he turns out to be Ghostface instead of Mrs. Loomis. He's got a bone to pick with Sydney Prescott-will she make it out alive? (Set right after Mickey reveals his part in the killings.)
1. Part 1

Sydney Prescott tried to back as far away from Mickey—and more importantly, his gun—as possible. Her mind was still reeling from his gleeful confession that he was Ghostface, that he had killed Maureen, Cici, Randy, Hallie, and Derek. _Derek_. Derek, with whom she finally thought she'd found a second shot at love, now strung up on a crucifix in the campus auditorium only feet away from her. It was almost too much for her to bear; she felt her grief threaten to reduce her to a puddle on the floor. But she steeled herself. There was no way that the bastard who had killed her boyfriend was going to take her out too. She had been through worse than this and come through.

"I'm gonna blame the movies," Mickey was still babbling. "This is just the beginning, the prelude to the trial. These days, it's all about the trial."

 _Keep him talking, keep him distracted_ , Sydney coached herself.

"You're psychotic," she spat out, trying to gauge how far away the door was. Could she make it if she made a mad dash? No, it was too far. There's no way Mickey would miss. All she had was the necklace still clutched in her hand. The necklace…

Mickey just grinned. "That'll be our little secret. I've worked hard to give the audience what they want." He raised his gun, pointing it at her forehead. "It's all about _execution_!"

Sydney braced herself, letting the chain slide further down from her hand. "You forgot one thing about Billy Loomis."

Mickey lowered his gun, intrigued. "Yeah?"

"I _killed_ him!"

She struck with the chain, whipping Mickey across the face. Started, he stumbled back, grabbing at his forehead. Sydney kicked his hand, knocking the gun out of it, and kicked him again in the gut for good measure. She tried to dodge past him towards the door, but he tackled her, dragging her onto her feet and throwing her against the wall. She elbowed him in the chest hard, then punched him in the jaw. He stumbled backwards but sprang up almost instantly, popping out around one of the stage's columns. Sidney tried to dodge around him, but he mimicked her every move until finally she grabbed his arms and jerked, smacking him into the stone. He fell to the ground, latching onto her ankle as she did, so she went sprawling with him. As she scrambled to her feet, she saw with sick dread that he was already standing—and he was once again holding the gun.

Without thinking, Sydney dodged behind the crucifix, trying to at least shield herself a little from Mickey's range. But he pulled out a dagger, barring her path.

"You've got this whole Linda Hamilton thing going on," he said, wiping some blood from his mouth with a dark chuckle. "I like it."

Suddenly, the crucifix was raised off the stage, leaving Sydney standing face-to-face with the murderer.

"Now who's doing that?" Mickey asked playfully. "Could that be the mystery guest, waiting in the wings? Told you I had a partner, Sid—a surprise cameo, just for you."

Behind her, the door creaked open, and Sydney's heart fell into her stomach as Gale Weathers stepped through the opening.

"Gale?"

But Gale shook her head, eyes wide with fear, and someone stepped through the opening behind her: Cotton Weary.

"Surprised to see me, Sydney?" he asked with a wicked grin.

"Cotton? What are you doing?" Sydney demanded, heart hammering.

Cotton just grinned more widely. "After a year of being accused of being a murderer, I thought I'd try out the real thing and see for myself."

"The two of us are gonna be famous," Mickey piped up from behind Sydney. "Your story's gonna be nothing compared to _ours_."

"Yeah, about that, Mickey…" Cotton looked almost regretful. "A story's a lot more compelling if there's only _one_ hero."

He pointed his gun at Mickey and fired, catching his partner in the chest. Red bloomed across Mickey's chest as puzzlement stretched across his face, and he fell to his knees. Instinctively, he fired off his own gun. The bullet caught Gale in the side, and she stumbled forward, pitching off the stage into the orchestra pit.

That left just Sydney and Cotton.


	2. Part 2

"Well, that worked out a lot better than I'd intended," Cotton quipped, still grinning. He started walking closer, and Sydney instinctively backed up. "Mickey was a good guy, but that insanity defense was just ridiculous. No one would have believed that. Besides, I don't want to be infamous. I want to be famous—a good guy, a survivor, a _hero_."

"Why on earth would anyone look at you like a hero?" Sydney demanded, backing up until she hit the wall. Despite her best resolve, she was shaking. "You killed all those people!"

"No, Mickey killed all those people," Cotton corrected her cheerfully. "Just like, ultimately, he killed you. I tried to save you, but I couldn't. All I could do was finish him off… leaving me the sole survivor. Everyone loves the sole survivor, Sid."

"You're crazy," Sydney breathed.

Cotton's grin disappeared, his eyes darkening. "Crazy?" he repeated, his voice rising. "Crazy? Is it crazy to want some sympathy, some attention after being locked up on bogus charges for a year? Is it crazy to be resentful that everyone believed sweet little Sydney Prescott over me, even though there was _NO REASONABLE EVIDENCE?_ Is it crazy to want to be the hero for once?" He was shouting now, still coming closer, and it took all of Sydney's willpower not to crumble against the wall.

"Cotton, please, let's talk about—"

"SHUT UP!" Cotton roared, pointing the gun at her threateningly, and the blood froze in Sydney's veins. "You've said your piece for a year. Now it's my turn. Okay? Is that okay with you?"

Sydney nodded quickly.

That seemed to appease him a little, and he relaxed, the grin coming back. "Now, the way I see it, this is going to be a tragedy with a little redemption thrown in," he explained, leaning one hand against the wall next to her as he continued to gesture with the gun. "After a year of fighting to clear my good name, I'll finally do it—even going as far as to try to save the woman who accused me." His eyes flicked to her eagerly. "That'd be you, Sid. Who could resist that narrative? I'll be on Oprah next week."

"No one will believe you," Sydney said quietly, desperately hoping to reason with him.

Cotton laughed shortly. "There will be no one else _to_ believe," he replied. "There will be no other witnesses. And, you know, it's kind of fitting, really," he added, tracing her jaw with the gun. "I mean, you called me a murderer when I wasn't. And after I murder you, everyone will call me a hero."

"Please don't do this."

"I like it when you plead, Sydney," Cotton said. He rested the gun against her collarbone, pinning her to the wall. "It's kind of a turn on." He ran his eyes down her body, then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "I fantasized a lot about you in prison, you know. What I wanted to do to you when I got out, what you looked like naked, all that jazz." Sydney felt his fingers slide up her hip and over her waist, slipping underneath her shirt, and she tried not to shudder. "You kept me company a lot during those long, lonely nights. I wonder if the reality is as good as the fantasy."

Sydney bit her lip, trying to block out his groping fingers. She had to come up with something fast. Suddenly, it came to her—a crazy idea, but better than nothing.

"You know, Cotton," she started hesitantly, "fifteen minutes of fame doesn't last very long."

"Yeah, well, it's lasted pretty long for you," Cotton snapped back.

"Nobody remembers the survivors from massacres of disasters," Sydney pressed on. "The sympathy dries up really quick when another juicy story comes up. But people remember the _heroes_ , if they're smart. You're not a hero if you just survived."

"So what are you saying?" Cotton demanded. "There's not really a way to be a hero here, Sid. Everyone else is dead."

"They don't have to be," Sydney replied. "What if… what if you saved me from Mickey? Huh? Imagine the news coverage we'd get. A man who was wrongly accused and thrown in prison ends up saving the girl who accused him from a real murderer. That's gold."

Cotton seemed to seriously consider it. "It does have a certain ring to it," he admitted. "But I'm not stupid enough to think you'd go along with it when there isn't a gun to your throat."

"You're the one who's stupid if you give up this perfect P.R. opportunity," Sydney answered, her fear making her bold. "This is Hollywood blockbuster movie material. It'll star Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts. We'll be on every talk show on television. We'll be on the cover of People."

"So, maybe you like that spotlight after all, huh, Sydney?" Cotton asked, his grin slowly returning. "I knew you did." A glint started to shine in his eye, a glint that made Sydney suddenly even more uncomfortable than before. "But why stop there?" he continued. "It could get even better. We could fall in love. We'd be the next Richard Gere and Cindy Crawford. When the publicity finally died out, we could have a big heartbreaking divorce."

Sydney's breath caught in her throat. Things were snowballing a little too far. But if that's what it took to walk out alive, so be it.

"That's a great idea," she replied, forcing herself to sound excited.

Cotton looked a little taken aback that she had actually agreed. "What? Really?"

"You're right, that'll get us way more press," she said. "We can ride that wave forever."

Cotton studied her warily. "Prove it."

Now Sydney was confused. "Prove it?"

"Show me that you'll stick to your end of the narrative. Show me that we'll be _partners_."

Realization dawned on Sydney, and with it a sick feeling deep within her gut. She knew what he was asking, and her innermost being rebelled from giving it. Not to _him_. Not to the man who had murdered Derek and all her other friends. It would be a disgrace to them. But what would be gained from her dying on that hill?

So she put a hand on Cotton's hip to brace herself, stood up on tiptoe and kissed him. Feeling his lips against hers made her skin crawl, and she pulled back after only a few seconds.

"Now that was nice," Cotton said, cupping her chin and running a thumb across her lips, "but I didn't really _buy_ it, you know? I mean, if we're going to be America's newest sweethearts, we've got to _sell_ it. And that was like a kiss you'd see at junior prom. Come on, Sydney," he taunted, leaning closer until his lips were almost brushing hers, "I know you can do better."

It was then that Sydney noticed Cotton had let his gun slide off her collarbone. He'd been distracted by the kiss. She could use this.

 _You want better,_ she thought determinedly, _you've got it_.

She kissed him again, this time more fervently, pulling him closer until their bodies were flushed against each other's. This time, she opened her mouth, letting him slide his tongue inside. She felt him relax, felt his defenses go down, as she ran her hands along his body. He kissed his way along her jaw and down her neck, impatiently pawing at her shirt and pulling her more tightly against him. Meanwhile, the hand that held the gun dropped lower and lower. With one hand, Sydney began playing with Cotton's belt buckle, as she ran her other hand down his arm, inching closer to the gun. She had almost reached it when—

"Nice try, Sydney," Cotton chastised, jerking his head up with a proud grin. "You almost—"

That's when she kneed him hard in the groin. Cotton crumbled to one side, dropping the gun, which bounced away from him. Sydney dove, grabbing for it frantically. She managed to snatch it, but Cotton kicked her hard in the ribs, flipping her onto her back. Instinctively, she lashed out with her own leg, catching him in the knee and knocking him to the ground too. Sydney crawled farther away from him, scrambling to her feet. But even as she stood up, Cotton tackled her, and the two of them went sprawling as the gun skittered from her hand. She twisted underneath him, grabbing for the gun, but he latched onto her leg and pulled her back towards him. Frantically, she swung back an elbow, catching him in the jaw, and he let go with a muffled curse. She managed to jerk free, pulling herself to her feet—only to realize that Cotton had reached the gun after all.


	3. Part 3

"You almost had me," he finished, pointing his gun straight at her heart, "but you didn't give me enough credit. No one gives me enough credit."

"This isn't the way to go about fixing that," Sydney replied tightly.

Cotton laughed shortly as he carefully stood up, keeping his gun trained at her the whole time. "You've started taking me seriously, haven't you?"

"Point taken," Sydney conceded.

"Maybe not seriously enough, though," Cotton said thoughtfully. "You look scared, sure, but not _terrified_. Let me fix that."

Before Sydney registered what had happened, Cotton pointed the gun at her leg and fired. Hot pain exploded up her thigh as she crumpled to the floor with a shriek.

"Cotton! What the hell!" she howled, clutching her leg. Warm blood oozed through her fingers.

"Don't worry, it's just a flesh wound," Cotton assured her, ambling over. "But it hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?" He stomped down on her wounded leg, grinding his boot into the bullet hole, and she screamed in agony. "Now, that is a lovely scream," he said, dropping down on top of her. She tried to push him off, but her arms felt strangely heavy, like she was pushing through Jell-O. He caught them easily, pinning them above her head. "Your mom used to scream for me just like that."

"Get _off_ me!"

"You're not really in the position to be giving orders, are you?" Cotton asked, still with that maddening grin, as he leaned in closer. "You're in an entirely different position." He leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. She tried to squirm away from his sharp, woodsy taste, but he was too heavy. "Say, that's tasty. May I have another?" He kissed her again, fumbling with the front of her jeans. Sydney bit him on the lip, and he jerked back with a hiss. "That'll cost you, Sid," he snapped, backhanding her hard across the face. She rocked to the side, her face on fire. "We'll just have to tweak the narrative a little."

"You're crazy," Sidney protested desperately. "There will be evidence!"

"I've got you covered," Cotton replied. With his free hand, he dug into his back pocket, pulling out a condom and waving it in front of her eyes triumphantly. "Tada! Thank God for the sexual revolution."

Sydney jerked suddenly, managing to wrench free from Cotton's grip. She rolled to the side, starting to spring up, but Cotton caught her wrist, swinging her back to face him—and his gun.

"This is the part where I'd quip about you being feisty," he said, keeping the gun against her throat, "but that's so cliché. Luckily, I'm good at doing things one-handed—" he winked at her—"if you know what I mean."

Sydney fought back frustrated tears. There was no way she could get away from him, not when he could put a bullet through her brain with one shot. She didn't hold out much hope for reasoning with him, either—but what other option did she have?

"Cotton, look, you don't have to do this," she said.

"Well, you're absolutely right, Sydney," Cotton agreed, dropping a hand onto her leg and sliding it up uncomfortably high. "I don't. But I want to. I really, really want to." His fingers crept even higher, over the front of her jeans, coming to rest on the front button. Sydney's breath hitched involuntarily, and Cotton grinned. "After all I've been through, I think it's about time I get what's coming to me, right?"

"I couldn't agree more!"

Both Cotton and Sidney jerked their heads towards the voice—Gale's voice. They hardly had a chance to register her presence before she slammed a prop rifle into the side of Cotton's head. It was only rubber, but it was enough to knock him out. The gun clattered to the ground beside him.

"Gale!" Sydney sprang up, totally forgetting her leg until it crumbled underneath her. She crashed back to the ground with a cry, and Gale rushed over.

"Sydney! Are you okay?" Gale knelt next to Sydney, spying the blood stain seeping across her jeans. Gale's eyes grew wide as saucers. "My God! What happened?"

"It's fine," Sydney insisted, waving her off as she reached down and clutched the gun. "We've got to get out of here. We've got to get the police!"

"It's okay," Gale replied, grabbing Sydney by the shoulders. "Cotton's out cold."

"They never stay down," Sydney said through grit teeth.

Suddenly, Cotton sprang back to life, lunging towards Sydney with Mickey's knife in one hand. She didn't flinch, just fired until there were no more rounds in the gun. Cotton tumbled backwards, blood spurting from half a dozen bullet holes. This time, he didn't get back up.

Sydney let Gale help her up, and the two women leaned on each other for support. Sydney caught her breath, staring down at Cotton's body dispassionately.

"Told you."


End file.
